Blood and Gold by Anne Rice

spoke with an accent, “and perhaps a battle of words will put all to right.”
    Mael didn’t wait for my agreement to this plan.
    “We brought you to the grove,” he told me, “because our god told us we must do this. He was burnt and dying, but he would not tell us why. He wanted you to go to Egypt, but he wouldn’t tell us why. There must be a new god, he said, but he didn’t tell us why.”
    “Calm yourself,” said Avicus softly, “so that your words truly speak for your heart.” Even in his rags he looked rather dignified and curious as to what would be said.
    Mael gripped the arms of the chair and glared at me, his long blond hair hanging over his face.
    “Bring a perfect human for the old god’s magic, we were told. And that our legends told us was true. When an old god is weak there must be a new one. And only a perfect man can be given over to the dying god for his magic in the oak.”
    “And so you found a Roman,” I said, “in the prime of life, happy and rich, and dragged him off against his will. Were there no men among you who were fit and right for your own religion? Why come to me with your wretched beliefs?”
    Mael wasn’t slowed in the slightest. At once he continued.
    “ ‘Bring me one who is fit,’ said the god, “one who who knows the languages of all kingdoms!’ That was his admonition. Do you know how long we had to search for such a man as you?”
    “Am I to feel sorry for you?” I said sharply and foolishly.
    He went on.
    “We brought you to the oak as we were told to do. Then when you came out of the oak, to preside over our great sacrifice, we saw that you had been made into a gleaming god of shimmering hair and eyes that frightened us.
    “And without a word of protest, you raised your arms so that the Great Feast of Sanhaim could begin. You drank the blood of the victims given you. We saw you do it! The magic was restored in you. We felt we would prosper, and it was time to burn the old god as our legends told us we must do.
    “It was then that you fled.” He sat back in his chair as though this long speech had taken the strength out of him. “You didn’t return,” he said disgustedly. “You knew our secrets. But you didn’t return.”
    A silence fell.
    They didn’t know of the Mother and the Father. They knew nothing of the old Egyptian lore. I was too relieved for a long moment to say anything. I felt more calm and controlled than ever. Indeed, it seemed rather absurd that we were having this argument, for as Avicus had said, we were immortal.
    But we were human still, each in his own way.
    Finally I realized that Mael was looking at me, and his eyes were as charged with rage as before. He looked pale, hungry, wild as I’ve said.
    But both of these creatures were waiting upon me to speak or do something, and it did seem the burden lay with me. At last, I made a decision which seemed to me to be its own form of reckoning, and its own form of triumph.
    “No, I didn’t come back,” I said to Mael squarely. “I didn’t want to be the God of the Grove. I cared nothing for the Faithful of the Forest. I made my choice to wander through time. I have no belief in your gods or your sacrifices. What did you expect of me?”
    “You took the magic of our god with you.”
    “I had no choice,” I said. “If I had left the old burnt god without taking his magic, you would have destroyed me, and I didn’t want to die. Why should I have died? Yes, I took the magic that he gave me and yes, I presided over your sacrifices and then I fled as anyone of my nature would do.”
    He looked at me for a long time, as if trying to decide whether or not I wanted to quarrel further.
    “And what do I see now in you?” I demanded. “Haven’t you fled your Faithful of the Forest? Why do I come upon you in Rome?”
    He waited a long moment.
    “Our god,” he said, “our old burnt god. He spoke of Egypt. He spoke of our bringing him one who could go down into Egypt. Did you go to